When Gina got to the room, she locked the door behind her and went through the routine of stripping and folding her clothes neatly.
She grabbed her breasts and bit her lower lip. She was ready to try again. She was ready to give herself the pleasure Richard always showered on her.
Gina laid down on one of the beds in the room and she spread her legs apart. She closed her eyes tightly and began to picture Richard's face. It was no task for her because whenever she closed her eyes, that was the image she saw.
Like other Saturdays, Richard went to the tavern at midday to watch Missy. He sat at the far end where the customers could shield him properly so that he could not be spotted easily.
He sat there and watched her move from table to table, receiving orders. He loved how the blue skirt she wore held her buttocks firmly.
He liked how the bow tie around her neck accentuated her bosom. To him, she was a goddess who appeared real but was surely going to disappear if he as much as touched the air around her.
That noon, Missy's younger brother, Marlow, had excused himself from the bar. He had duties to attend to on his father's behalf, leaving Missy to do all the work.
That made it impossible for her and Richard not to have a conversation.
Usually, Richard made sure Marlow took his orders, but he knew that noon was going to be different. Maybe it was the wind that gushed outside of the window he sat beside or the water that dropped rhythmically on his table that made him feel on edge.
But when he lifted his eyes from the sweaty palm of his hands, he saw Missy's face at close range for the first time. Then his heart stopped beating for a split second and went into overdrive.
He felt his heart pound hard against his chest and suddenly, the air in the bar was not enough for him. Even though it was a cold July morning, Richard sat in his chair, sweating and begging himself to say something because Missy's presence had tied his tongue.
'What may I bring you, sire?' Missy smiled.
He had heard her voice a few times before but she had never spoken to him and so it sounded different.
To him, it was like the peaceful flow of a river, very steady and gentle.
He looked at her face and, in a bid, to take in all of its features, he stared at her.
Her eyes were brown, and her face was decorated with freckles that spread evenly. Her lips were full and pink, and her skin had no blemish. She was indeed much more beautiful than he had fantasized.
'Sire?' Missy was uncomfortable.
A lot of men made Missy uncomfortable but she understood it was part of the problems that came with being a female barkeep and so she chose to ignore them.
But she knew that the man who sat before her was just as uncomfortable as she was.
'Mead. Just Mead.' Richard managed to find his voice, but he kept staring at her.
Missy walked away and tried her best not to look over her shoulder. The man was different from the other men that visited the bar.
He was gentle and he sat alone. He did not say too many things and he did not call her degrading names.
But he did something no one had ever done. He stared at her, and it made her heart skip a little. She was not sure if happiness was the right way to respond to a stranger staring, but she knew it was better than anger.
After filling a mug with Mead, she took it to the stranger. She was going to ask his name just so she could look out for him, maybe make friends with him because he had been nice enough to respect her.
She dropped the mug and tucked her hair behind her ears. It was a movement she had made because her hair was getting in her face but Richard, in his fantasy, did not see it that way.
He translated that small gesture as an invite, an opening, a welcome note.
'I do not mean to disrespect you sire but, whatever might your name be?' She folded her hands behind her.
Richard had answered that question a lot of times before but that Saturday noon, he had no answer to it. He had completely forgotten his name and it even surprised him that a man of his stature and position in society acted like a child before a woman.
'What?' He asked like he had not heard what she said.
'I asked for your name. I've never really seen you around here, are you a traveler?'
Missy had not gotten the reply to her first question, and she piled it up with another, but no one could blame her, she had no idea how much control she had over the man that sat before her.
'I am a patron here. Your brother usually tends to my needs.' At least he said something.
It was not a good idea for Missy to stand around and chat with a stranger while other customers needed her service, so she excused herself. But not before making up her mind to look for him, outside of the tavern. He seemed like an interesting young man to her.
When Missy left his table, Richard then felt normal again. He felt the cold sweat on his skin and laughed. He did not see his encounter with Missy as a failure, he saw it as a step forward with her.
At least he had seen her face closely and it was going to serve its purpose in his dreams later that night. He was going to see her as she really was, with all her freckles and full hair.
That was the only thing going well for him at that moment because when he picked up the mug and took a sip of its content, he realized he had requested his worst kind of drink.
Richard hated Mead because his father loved it. Whenever he was at the bar, he requested Barley, but he had to take the drink, simply because the woman after his heart served it to him.
'My intuition is never wrong. Alas, we meet again, Richard.' It was a man with an eye patch that spoke.
'Ansley, whatever are you doing here?' Richard jumped to his feet.